


Pietà I

by GreatLoversLieInHell



Series: Drarry Ficlets [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, The Inherent Eroticism of the Sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatLoversLieInHell/pseuds/GreatLoversLieInHell
Summary: Harry and Draco go for a swim.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry Ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144481
Kudos: 15





	Pietà I

The white teeth of his smile catch the light of the afternoon sun which hangs high in the cloudless sky that day in the South of France. Draco leaps casually from the rock that protrudes from the water like an animal’s fang, jagged obelisk of an untouched landscape. The azure sea below swallows him readily, and Harry can see his distorted form below the surface for a moment before he re-emerges, water clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” Harry calls out in warning, though his own smile matches Draco’s, almost involuntarily. He hasn’t dived in yet, content for the moment to sit on one of the boulders that lines the rocky shore, his feet just barely submerged. The shoreline is protected there, at what Draco had called his “secret beach,” and the waves were never very strong. Harry doesn’t know if that much is man-made magic or one of those mysterious quirks of nature. After a time, he supposes, they become one and the same.

Draco swims over to him, and Harry admires the way his shoulders flex as his arms cut through the water. They had been taking bets on whether Draco even  _ could _ tan, and he had--a little, thanks to lots of potions, which Harry had insisted on layering with sun cream.

Draco pulls himself out of the water onto the boulder next to Harry. The water makes his skin glisten, and Harry looks away, briefly overcome.

“Aren’t you going to get in?” Draco asks.

“In a minute,” Harry sighs happily. His eyes are closed now, and his face is lifted up towards the sun. “I’m photosynthesizing.”

“I’ve told you to stop using made-up words around me. It’s not fair,” Draco says, running fingers through his wet hair.

“It’s not made up.” Harry gives Draco a sly look from beneath his thick, black lashes. “But I’m not telling you what it means.”

Draco sighs dramatically, falling onto his back on the sun-warmed rock. He closes his eyes and listens to the lapping of the water against the shore. “I could just push you in.”

“You won’t.” Harry smiles, finally daring to look at Draco, to drink in his form without the confrontation of his eyes. There was a familiar comfort in staring at Draco while he wasn’t looking. It had been that way for both of them for most of their short lives, neither daring to submit to the vulnerability of being caught staring, not on purpose at least. It was only recently that things like vulnerability--like that feeling of standing at the precipice of a tower, knowing there’s only one way to get down--began to be normal, expected even. It exhilarates him even now. After everything.

“You don’t know that,” Draco says. “I’m very evil.”

“If you’re evil, I’m evil too,” Harry replies fondly, as he does every time Draco makes this joke. The first time it had upset him, but over the course of days, weeks, months, that hurt had solidified into a small ball of burning  _ something _ which lodged itself in the back of his throat.

Draco opens his eyes, his dark gaze meeting Harry’s, and pushes himself onto his elbows to press their lips together sweetly. Harry is undone. It is gentle in a way that still manages to surprise them both, after years of traded barbs. The kiss deepens without the need for awkward negotiation, because they both know there is a level on which this exchange has already been had.  _ Dare I ask for more? How much would you give me? I would give you everything, if I could, to become lost in you, to wrap around you like an old coat. Discard me if you wish, tossing me carelessly over a chair or leaving me crumpled on the floor, as long as you return to me, year after year, for warmth. _

Draco brings his hand up to cup the side of Harry’s face, and pulls away. He kisses Harry’s forehead. A benediction, then--to the sea, to summer afternoons, to sex, to love, to well-worn coats. Harry’s dark curls tickle his nose as he pulls away.

“Your hair is getting long,” Draco says quietly. Harry appreciates that there is no roar of waves to interrupt them then.

“You can cut it,” he offers, suddenly nervous. “If you want to, that is.”

Draco stares at him. Harry is disarmed. There are moments like these, when their easy banter comes to a stop, and there’s this stirring of something beneath the lakes of Draco’s eyes, something not yet vocalized, but which might, one day, change everything.

“Let’s leave it a while longer,” he says finally. “It looks good as it is right now.”

The spell holding him in place is broken, and Harry immediately begins to unbutton his white linen shirt, which Draco says is the style in this part of France. He leaves the shirt on the sun-bleached boulder and slips into the water, swimming out a ways before fully submerging himself.

The quiet drone of the sea around him fills his ears, and he wills his heart to stop pounding. It’s a familiar sensation by now, though more distressing is that this time the cause is undeserved pleasure, which feels worse, somehow, than the pain. Harry lets it fade away. He lets himself float back to the surface, surrounded by the expanse of something bigger than himself.

He opens his eyes.

The sun filters in through the surface of the water, making the light dance, forming and reforming in accordance with unseen tidal forces and the wake of his own dive. He can hear a voice calling for him. There, he is almost there.

Draco pulls him the rest of the way to the surface, cradling his body in his arms.

“Are you alright?” Draco asks, gently wiping the sea water from Harry’s face.

“I know how to swim, you know,” Harry replies, but there’s no malice there. He maneuvers his body upright, so that they are both treading water. Their bodies are close enough that every so often one’s foot makes contact with the other’s body, only to retreat shyly.

“Well, you never know with you,” Draco mumbles hotly, his cheeks and the tips of his ears beginning to blush. “You’re just the type to jump in without knowing what you’re doing.”

This makes Harry laugh, which in turn eases the crease beginning to form in Draco’s brow. Suddenly, he tackles Draco, pulling them both under, down to the rocky seafloor below. He looks at Draco then, who was not taken by surprise by such an attack, and is staring back at him, annoyed and fond all at once. Harry lets his arms move of their own accord, for once, pulling Draco into a tight embrace as they float slowly upward. He thinks,  _ now this is how to die. Not as a sacrificial lamb upon the altar of a broken world, the willing martyr, but to love and be loved, completely. _

A few bubbles escape their mouths as he brings Draco in for a kiss, hands cradling his face. The rest of his breath floats away as he sighs, utterly content with oblivion. Draco pulls away, and Harry can feel him tugging them both back to the surface, where the sun greets them once again.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Draco says through gasps of air.

Harry lets the ache of his lungs seep through him as he takes huge gulps of air. He coughs a little. He says, finally, “you’d never let me.”

“Well,” Draco replies, breath finally under control. “I suppose that’s true.”

Harry laughs, and swims off to the rock Draco jumped from earlier, knowing that Draco isn’t far behind. They’ll spend a few more hours at the beach, then return to the chateau for a nap before dinner. Afterwards, they’ll give each other this look, and they’ll be lucky if they make it to the bedroom before falling into each other’s arms, like a ship returning to shore, always greeting each other in relief. For now, it’s enough if Draco is there waiting for Harry at the bottom of the precipice, ready for his fall.


End file.
